


Now Winter's Here

by Small_Hobbit



Series: Sussex Retirement [7]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5361356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scattering of snow entices Holmes and Watson out for a walk, but the weather begins to turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Snowy Walk

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's Older Not Dead "Winter" challenge

When I awoke one winter morning and looked out of the window I observed a smattering of snow lying in the fields behind our cottage. I was not too surprised, for the previous day had been cold and Christmas would be upon us in just over a week. Once dressed, I descended the stairs and joined Holmes for a leisurely breakfast.

When we had eaten, Holmes said, “What would you say, dear chap, to a stroll along the lane? The sky looks clear at the moment and I am sure if we walk up the lane to the crest of the hill the view into the valley beyond will be rewarding.”

I acquiesced at once. It was a walk we had taken many times during the summer; sometimes we would continue down the other side, but more often than not we would stand and admire the view before returning to our cottage. The slope upwards on our side was gradual, whereas the slope down on the other was considerably steeper and rather tiring for two gentlemen no longer in even their middle years.

We had continued taking the walk during the autumn, although less often, the weather and my state of health affecting the frequency of our walks. However, today looked perfect for a walk and it was not long before we were attired in our overcoats, hats, scarves and gloves. I carried my stick but Holmes declared he had no need of his.

It was almost magical walking up the lane. The temperature had not risen sufficiently to melt the snow which had fallen and it felt to me as if the whole countryside was sparkling. I did not say so to Holmes, who, as readers will know, is not given to flights of romantic description; but I was aware he was humming to himself under his breath, which is a sign of his appreciation of nature.

We reached the crest of the hill safely. I had felt my feet slipping on a couple of occasions, but my trusty stick did not let me down. Holmes is lighter on his feet and appeared to have no problems. The view had indeed been worth the walk. It was evident more snow had fallen on the valley on the far side and it reminded me of the landscapes painted by Joseph Farquharson; beautiful to look at, but rather less appealing to be working in.

I was still drinking in the view when Holmes tapped my arm and pointed upwards. What had been a clear sky not five minutes earlier was now overcast and, even as we watched, the first flakes of snow began to fall.

I turned at once and we began to head back for our cottage. Holmes took my arm and we set off at a reasonable pace. Unfortunately the falling snow had made the lane harder to traverse and we were forced to slow down, with Holmes taking a firmer grip on my arm as I used my stick to keep the two of us on our feet.

What had appeared magical on our way up the hill now seemed cold and a little threatening. We could see the cottage ahead, but as the snow started to fall faster we were forced to walk slower, since even one misplaced footstep in a snow covered rut on the side of the lane could have serious consequences.

And such was indeed the case. As I took a step forward, my stick must have gone into a rut and my weight on the stick pulled me to one side. My sudden movement pulled my arm free from Holmes, and he gave a small cry before falling to the ground.


	2. Hazardous Weather

I turned at once to assist my companion. Holmes struggled into a seated position, but it was clear he was in some pain. I took a firm hold on my stick and offered him my arm to help him up.

“No, Watson,” he said. “I am not sure how much weight I can put on this leg, and if I pull on you too hard I will have you over as well. I will make my way over to that tree and use it to help lever myself up.”

He did as he had said, his face set firm, pulling himself across the layer of snow which was covering the lane; every movement jarring his body and making him wince. There was nothing I could do to help, for Holmes was right: if I were to fall as well we would be in an even worse state.

It did not help that the snow was continuing to fall heavily and by now our hats and coats were covered in snow. In fact, when I looked down the lane it was becoming more difficult to distinguish our cottage through the falling snowflakes.

Reluctantly I came to a decision. “Holmes, old chap,” I said. “I am going for help. Even if you manage to stand there is no guarantee you will be able to walk and I am afraid I am no longer strong enough to bear your weight.”

“I understand,” he replied, “but be careful. I could not bear it if anything were to happen to you.”

“And I you,” I said. I removed my scarf and wrapped it round Holmes neck, tucking it into the front of his overcoat, hoping it would provide a little extra warmth for him. We held hands briefly, before I turned and began to make my way tentatively down the lane.

For all my bold words, I was not certain what I should do. Given the weather I doubted Mrs Maiden would be coming. She would know we had sufficient food to last us a few days and it would be madness for her to attempt to reach us. Besides which, although of a determined nature, she was a slightly built woman and I doubted even the two of us together would be able to carry Holmes should that prove necessary.

There were cottages not far from ours, where I might be able to find some assistance. And if all else failed I would make my way down to the village, where I was sure I could find help. I hoped this would not be necessary, for this latter solution would take me some time and I did not like to think of Holmes being left in the cold for too long.

I battled on, concentrating hard to ensure I did not lose my footing. Suddenly I became aware of someone calling out, “Dr Watson! Mr Holmes!”

I looked up to see two figures standing perhaps one hundred yards away. Carefully I leaned on my stick and waved my free arm in the air and called out, “Over here!”

But my voice was lost within the snow and I watched in horror as I saw the callers start to head in the opposite direction. I tried to speed up, but the faster I walked the more I slipped and I was forced after taking a few steps to slow down.

I called again, louder this time, and the figures stopped, before one of them began moving towards me, followed by the second. It is not hard to imagine my relief as they approached and I realised they were Seth’s grandsons, William and Arthur.


	3. Keeping Warm

Arthur reached me first, “Dr Watson, are you all right? Mrs Maiden wasn’t able to come, but Mother was worried about you and sent us up with some food.”

William joined his brother. “We couldn’t find you at the cottage, so we came to look for you. Where’s Mr Holmes?”

I told them Holmes had fallen and asked them to go to his assistance, saying I would make my own way back to the cottage.

William looked at me. “I shall go on. Arthur will make sure you reach the cottage safely and then he can come and join me.”

I thanked him, and when Arthur offered me an arm to lean on, I did not resist. Once we reached the cottage I unlocked the door and Arthur carried inside the basket his mother had sent. I reassured him I would be all right on my own and he went to find Holmes and his brother.

Having removed my hat and coat I set about the fire for I wanted our parlour to be warm by the time Holmes made it back. In addition I put the kettle on to boil. I looked in the basket Arthur had brought and found his mother had sent some cold meat pie and two baked potatoes which had been wrapped to keep them warm.

It was not long before I heard the sound of voices. William and Arthur appeared, both supporting Holmes, who was limping quite badly but otherwise seemed to be unharmed. Arthur helped Holmes take off his coat, despite the protestations; I suspect he had learnt to ignore such matters when aiding his grandfather. I persuaded Holmes to sit on the sofa where I could check on the damage. With relief I was able to pronounce he had done no more than badly sprain his ankle.

As soon as I was sure Holmes needed nothing more than rest I sent the two lads home. They would have been happy to stay, but I suspected their mother would prefer to know they had returned. I asked them to let Mrs Maiden know we would not expect her until the roads were clear, and re-affirmed we had all we would need for the next few days.

When they had left I busied myself with putting the pie and potatoes on plates, and making a hot toddy for both Holmes and myself. It was clear neither of us would be leaving the cottage again that day, so I felt it would do us no harm.

Once we had eaten I cleared away before building the fire up further and lighting the lamps. I brought Holmes a blanket, which he refused to use, proclaiming he was not an invalid. I told him it was his choice, but since I had planned on dozing in front of the fire and would be using something similar myself, he was not to blame me if he got cold.

Holmes made a great show of picking up his book whilst I stretched my legs out and shut my eyes. The combination of the morning’s fresh air and exercise, with the warmth from the fire soon had its effect on me. And I was not alone, for when I woke later I saw Holmes’ book had slipped to the floor and he, likewise, had succumbed to the powers of Morpheus.

He woke shortly after I did and casually reached down for his book, deliberately avoiding my eye. I chuckled and went to make a pot of tea. I returned carrying some slices of bread. I moved one of the armchairs closer to the fire and placed a stool nearby, after which I told Holmes so long as he kept his leg elevated there was no reason why he shouldn’t toast us some bread over the fire.

We remained by the fire for the evening. The snow, which had ceased for a while, had begun again and we could hear the wind in the chimney, but we were safe and warm in our cottage. We did not say much to each other, for over the years a shared glance has become sufficient to convey contentment and a gentle smile speaks of our mutual affection.


	4. Winter Memories

The following morning it was no longer snowing, but there was clear evidence of the overnight fall. Looking out of the cottage windows I could see a pure white blanket everywhere in sight. Looking closer there were a few footprints from the birds which nested in our eaves, and at the bottom of the garden I could just glimpse the pawprints of our neighbouring fox, but nothing else had disturbed the snow.

We would be going nowhere. Even if I had been foolhardy enough to consider a walk, Holmes was in no position to be taking any exercise. I contented myself with looking out of the window and maybe walking round the cottage later in the day, holding fast to my stick.

We had plenty of food and drink and therefore settled down to spending the day indoors. Others might liken this to adopting a siege mentality, but I, who have known what true sieges can be like, would not describe it in such terms. We had nothing in particular to fear. We could easily wait for the thaw in a few days time, and if it did not happen, there were many around with cart horses, who, firm of foot, would have no trouble in reaching us. There was no more than two or three inches of snow upon the land and many, I am sure, would be working in such conditions.

However, Holmes and I, having no pressing obligations, settled down to a convivial time in front of our fire. We did not even have preparations to make for the forthcoming festive season, for Seth had insisted we were to join him and his family for the day. We would be transported there and back; I was not sure of the exact arrangements, but it appeared Austen the carter had a list of who needed to be where and when and transportation was provided in a form akin to that of a tramp steamer.

Our thoughts naturally turned to previous times when winter weather had played its part. As was normal we first recalled Henry Baker’s lost hat and goose and Commissionaire Peterson’s unexpected Christmas bonus. From there we remembered the arrival of Alexander Holder, slipping and sliding in the snow as he came to seek our assistance with the loss of the beryl coronet.

But it was not just crimes involving jewels we spoke about. We both had tales to tell of misfortunes we had befallen. Holmes recounted gleefully the occasion when we had been about to go to the opera and a large amount of snow had suddenly descended from a porch on top of me. I reminded him of the time he had been so engrossed in explaining a deduction to me as we walked along the pavement, he had failed to notice a patch of ice and had slipped and fallen. He had continued with his explanation from his seated position, ignoring the jeers of a couple of street urchins nearby.

And we could both remember times when the weather was depressing, rather than a source of amusement. There were occasions when Holmes had been forced to walk through icy lanes in the course of his enquiries and had stumbled upon some poor unfortunate soul who, without shelter for the night, had frozen to death. And I recalled times when I had returned home through slushy streets unable to do anything for an ailing patient.

But there were happier memories too, as was the occasion when we were out for a stroll together and encountered Lestrade surrounded by his children. It appeared his wife, wishing for some respite from the family, had sent them all out for some fresh air. Upon learning we were friends of their father, the youngsters proceeded to bombard us with snowballs, egged on by Lestrade himself. We did our best, but were woefully outnumbered. Upon our return to Baker Street, Mrs Hudson was heard to mutter we were no better than children.

So we spent the day, regaling each other with tales of winters gone, to which, no doubt, would be soon added the story of our rescue by William and Arthur.

 


End file.
